Archive: Certainly on M&A, The Nesting Place, Wayward
Inn.Others please request.
Category: AU, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: A sharp left turn into AU here. Spoilers a-go-go for
TPM.
Pairing: Q/O
Summary: Naboo. A little swashbuckling gone horribly wrong.
Heroism. Consequences.
Notes: A new fic for the New Millennium.
Yet another tale of the Warrior's Heart series, official order
as follows:
"Rightful Owner"
"Crime and Punishment"
"Ecstasies"
"The Anger Exercises"
"The Geometry of Desire"
"But For Grace"
"Give and Take"
"Meditations"
"Master & Apprentice"
"Nomenclature"
"The Fear Exercises"
"Master Class"
"An Accident Waiting"
"Bruck's Turn" (Fic by Pamela)
"The Sweet Science of Bruising"
"From a High Place"
"Artifacts"
"Silk"
"Birthday Suite"
A Simple Twist of Fate (Not a Songfic)
This series spans about five years of time before, up to, and
slightly after TPM, where it takes a sharp left at a certain
pivotal moment (in this story) into AU, because I believe
George made a terrible mistake. There are some large gaps,
timewise, which I may fill in now and then. If anybody else
wants to play here, feel free. It's a big sandbox and I'm happy
to share my toys, as long as I get to take 'em home at the end
of the day. (I wish!)
Thoughts in */*; telepathy in //.
Feedback: The more I gets, the more I writes, so if you like
what you read, please feed the writer.Warning: Proportion of
writing to feedback may increase exponentially, unless I go up
in flames shortly. E-mail only, please.
Disclaimers: George owns 'em, though I'm beginning to wonder if
he knows what to do with 'em. For this story, I've also
borrowed liberally from Terry Brooks' novelization (another
sincere form of flattery; please don't sue; your sister can
tell you what a mostly harmless person I am). Throughout the
series, a couple of characters from the YA *Jedi Apprentice*
series appear or are mentioned here: Bruck Chun, Obi-Wan's
tormentor, and Qui-Gon's failed apprentice, Xanatos. I don't
own them, either. However, if anybody'd like to sell me
Qui-Gon, slightly used or otherwise, I have a platinum card
waiting to be broken in. I wouldn't say no to atrussed-up
Obi-Wan, either. Home delivery requested. Bonus points for
chocolate-dipped.
Qui-Gon lay unmoving where he had fallen, sprawled untidily,
entirely unlike himself.
Can't be dead, Obi-Wan thought blankly again and again,
Can't, can't, can't, like a chant as he stumbled, chest
heaving with exertion, knees weak with terror and shock, toward
the man he loved. Somewhere he dropped Qui-Gon's saber. At some
point, he began to run. Knees buckled. He slid the last meter
on them, nudged his master with them, then pulled the great
shaggy head onto them. //No. No, Master. No!// No breath for
words, he cried out across their bond.
Qui-Gon's eyes fluttered, opened, looked up at him without
focus. Obi-Wan laid his hand over the entry wound, could feel
heat and Qui-Gon's life seeping from it, smell shit and
cauterized blood, charred flesh, burnt cloth. The wound was
almost perfectly centered, had probably severed his spine after
going through his intestines, he thought dimly. That would
explain how he'd collapsed so bonelessly . . .
"Master!" he gasped.
"Too late, my young Padawan." A smiled touched his lips, fled.
So calm. So damned calm.
"No!" There was more pain in Obi-Wan's voice than his
master's--a small gift.
"Now you must be ready, whether the Council thinks you so or
not." Qui-Gon's voice was so faint, as though he were already
far away. "You must be the teacher." A stab of agony contorted
his features for a brief moment, then it too fled, leaving
desperation behind. "Obi-Wan--promise me you will train the
boy--"
"No! I will not, Qui-Gon. I will not!" he said fiercely,
adamantly, defiantly. "You must. You will. You can't leave me.
Not now. I won't let you go--"
Qui-Gon seemed not to hear him. Hand trembling, he reached up,
fingertips brushing Obi-Wan's cheek. "He is the chosen one,
Obi-Wan. He will bring balance to the Force." His master's blue
eyes were wells of blackness now, the pupils blown. Obi-Wan
knew he saw nothing but what the Force revealed to him. So
certain he was, here at the end, of the gift he had ever
mistrusted in his apprentice. "Train him well," he whispered on
his last breath. His features went still, his limbs slack. His
chest fell and did not rise again.
Last breath.
His last breath had been for that boy. Not for him, not for his
lover and companion and padawan of 13 years. For that
interloper Anakin.
Rage filled him as it had when Qui-Gon had been struck down,
coupled this time with jealousy. Unthinking, unwilling this
time to bridle it, he surged across the bond between them,
tenuous as it was now, determined to drag him back, make him
answer for that slight.
//Gods damn you, Qui-Gon Jinn! Damn your chosen one! Damn the
order, damn all of it! I won't lose you! I'll follow you to
whatever Sith hell awaits you!//
Elsewhere, his hands--moving of their own accord, found both
entrance and exit wounds and sealed them, as though trying to
hold Qui-Gon's spirit to his body.
//Go, Obi-Wan. Let me go,// his master's voice came to him,
though he could see nothing, hear nothing, feel only his own
grief and the residual pain in the shell of Qui- Gon's body,
taste only his own tears and bitterness, smell only the stench
of his master's death. //It's my time, love.//
//No! Not by all the Sith hells! I'll turn before I'll lose
you. I'll be another Xanatos. I'll leave the order without you.
Do you hear me? I'll leave, Qui-Gon, and waste every precious
moment of your training. Let the Jedi have their chosen one.
Let them find him a teacher. It won't be me. Not without you.//
With that Obi-Wan poured everything of himself, everything he
could command into the lifeless body he held, opening himself
to the Living Force as he had--they had, together--years ago
when they had first become lovers. Holding each other, joined
in body and spirit, they had cast themselves into the Force,
building something powerful enough to expunge the taint of
death, seeing into one another's hearts more clearly than they
ever had before or since. Now his lover had done the same,
without him, and Obi-Wan would not have it.
In all truth, he had never opened himself so fully before. It
was like an electric current, the power of it coursing through
him, pouring into Qui-Gon. He felt himself swept up in it and
dragged along whether he would or no, as though it were a
rushing torrent he had stepped into. His own heart faltered for
a moment with the strength of it and he had to fight to stay
conscious. Focus, he demanded more harshly than Qui-Gon
had ever demanded of him, feeling himself precariously holding
on to his own sense of self, his own life.
What grounded him, finally, were his master's injuries. The red
blade had done as much damage as he feared, perforating his
intestines, nicking pancreas and liver and, worst of all,
severing his spine. The wound was dirty but not bloody, or
should not have been, not with everything so neatly cauterized.
But there was far more blood than one usually saw with
lightsaber or blaster wounds, and shock and blood loss had
stolen Qui-Gon's life, and his own inability or unwillingness
to fight it. There was nothing else to be done but go after
him. Obi-Wan wasn't sure it was possible to open himself any
further, to let more of himself go and be able to return. But
the returning didn't really matter, though he found he wanted
that most of all. In the end, it was only finding Qui-Gon
again, being with him, that mattered. If this was the only way
to do it, so be it.
He let go.
A rushing silence filled his head, as of a violent wind in
treetops, and Obi-Wan found himself standing on a hilltop in
darkness, the sky above him riotous with stars and aurorae
rippling overhead, the land around him rolling and hidden in
shadow. His cloak flapped in the wind, his braid snapped around
his face like a whip. Qui-Gon stood before him, shatteringly
beautiful, the Light within him so apparent now, clear and
bright and perfect, a beacon in this dark land, brighter than
the aurora was or any moon would have been, yet casting no
light into the darkness. The illumination was only inward, not
outward, and Obi-Wan could truly see his master more
clearly than he ever had before. His unbound hair streamed out
behind him like wind-driven pennons. The same wind pressed his
tunic to him like the weight of water, so it clung to every
line of his unbroken, unscarred body. He seemed younger to
Obi-Wan, though it was the same silvered bronze hair, the same
weathered face he had always known--only, he realized suddenly,
much less care-worn, and unmarred by any fault or weakness.
He'd never seen his master so tranquil. His hands were clasped
as they would have been inside his cloak and his easy stance
spoke of a deep serenity, as though he were finally where he
belonged.
They regarded each other with a calm Obi-Wan, for one, did not
feel. Time was fleeting. Qui-Gon's mortal flesh was dying,
oxygen deprived, bloodless; the anchor to his own body was
slipping. If they were to come back, it would have to be soon.
If not--well, then these few moments would not matter.
//You cannot follow me here, love,// his master said gently.
//I will. Stay or go. I will be with you.//
//You have another destiny--//
//Don't speak to me of destinies, My Master,// he spat. //I
will not see your body on a pyre. This is what my vision showed
me: the two of us together beyond this moment, growing old with
one another. My destiny lies with you. I will make it so, one
way or another. Either you will live or I will die with you.
Choose, Qui-Gon.//
Silence filled them both, despair and longing coloring it--
Obi-Wan's despair, Qui-Gon's longing both for the oneness with
the Force he felt so deeply, and for his lover. Obi-Wan felt
the two opposing desires warring within his master, the Force
calling to him more powerfully than either knew how to
counter--than Obi-Wan knew he had any right to counter. This
was Qui-Gon's very essence calling him, the Light within him,
the Living Force, the thing they had touched together in the
gardens, the source of all his master's joy and peace. How
could Obi-Wan deny him this?
It was walking in the Dark to do so. He saw that now.
But oh it hurt to lose him. And he could not. He had not the
strength. For all Qui-Gon had taught him, this was the one
thing he had not learned: how to go on alone.
//Please, My Master. I beg you . . .// Almost weeping, Obi- Wan
held out his hands.
Qui-Gon's serene visage cracked then, the Light in him
darkening somewhat, and it hurt Obi-Wan to see it, knowing he
was the cause.
Finally, after what seemed interminable moments, Qui-Gon took
the hands Obi-Wan held out to him, letting himself be led . . .
. . . back to the most searing pain he'd ever known--and the
touch of his lover, soothing it. He lay on his side, head in
Obi-Wan's lap, the younger man's hands pressed to the exit and
entry wounds as he made himself a conduit for the Living Force.
Qui-Gon felt it pouring into him, shoring up his tentative
heart and stunned and failing body, willing him to live. And he
could taste his lover's essence in it. Obi-Wan was giving
himself, not just as a conduit, but giving part of himself,
willing Qui-Gon alive with everything he had.
"No, love--" he gasped. Gods it hurt to talk. Hurt to breathe.
Hurt to live. "Not . . . so much." It hurt more to feel Obi-Wan
pouring his own young life into this old, broken flesh.
His apprentice seemed not to hear him. Qui-Gon tried to move
away, found his legs dead, useless weights, his arms too weak
to do more than twitch and jerk. Where had his strength gone?
He remembered then the Sith draining it from him, slowing his
reactions, making him stumble as though sucking the very life
out of him. It had done the same on Tatooine when only
Obi-Wan's quick thinking and Ric Olie's excellent piloting had
saved him. He'd been such a fool to go against it alone again.
//Qui--don't fight me! Focus.// Obi-Wan's urgency helped
somehow, gave him something to cling to besides his own sense
of precariousness and the pain. He let himself feel his lover's
strong heart beating, and Obi-Wan's determination to live was
like an anchor for both of them.
The Living Force poured into him until his own heart beat more
steadily and in time with Obi-Wan's and his lungs worked in
tandem with his lover's breathing, until the pain was a
constant, throbbing, agonizing burn, telling him he was alive,
and still Obi-Wan gave of himself. His apprentice filled him
with his own fierce love, his youth and strength and power
until it seemed it would drain him, the very antithesis of what
the Sith had done. Neither was certain it would be enough, and
Obi-Wan was weakening. //Qui, hold . . . on . . . to me.//
The young man swayed dizzily, his breathing harsh, face
transparently pale and sheened in sweat, and finally toppled
over, still holding his master. Qui-Gon followed him down into
unconsciousness.
Captain Panaka and the Queen's guards found them thus entwined
a short while later, the one deeply unconscious, the other not
far from death.
Obi-Wan woke wondering if he were in a bacta tank. He felt
weightless, drowsy, disinclined to move or even open his eyes.
He wondered, for a moment, what had happened, what he was doing
here. Where "here" was.
Cool fingers touched his forehead, spanned his temples, and a
wave of warm energy flowed through him. He opened his eyes as
the touch withdrew, found himself looking into a familiar face
in unfamiliar surroundings.
"Ti?" he croaked, voice rusty, looking up at the flash of white
teeth in the charcoal-dark face of his friend and yearmate
Tianna Iolan.
A straw touched his lips and he drank a few sips, tried again.
"Where are we?" he asked, voice sounding more like himself.
"Still on Naboo, Ow," she told him, using her old nickname for
him. "How do you feel?"
Naboo. A chill went through him, accompanied or perhaps set off
by sudden blind terror. "Qui--" he gasped. "Where's Qui-Gon?"
He tried to flail himself upright, but Tianna caught and held
him as though he were a child, pushed him back down onto the
pallet, shushed him gently, stroked his hair. "He's all right,
Ow. He's in a bacta tank right now. He'll be fine. Lie still
and rest," she admonished in her best healer's voice.
Obi-Wan sank back onto the pallet with a shiver, feeling what
little strength he'd had flow out of him again as the adrenalin
surge metabolized itself. He felt vaguely ill from it, and from
the memories. He could sense Qui-Gon nearby, feel the
unnaturally quiescent spot in his own consciousness where his
master's presence always was, and though the signal across
their bond seemed much stronger than usual, there was little
information in it. Qui-Gon simply was, and that was all he
knew.
"I need to see him," he insisted more quietly.
"Turn your head." Tianna touched his chin, guiding.
And there he was, through an internal connecting window, hardly
recognizable, a vaguely humanoid shape in a clear cylinder,
looking as though he were a laboratory specimen in
preservative. His hair was tied back loosely at the nape of his
neck and there were tubes and catheters and sensors everywhere.
The wounds were still all too obvious, though just as obviously
healing. He looked dead, but Obi-Wan could feel the trickle of
life in him. It seemed too small for such a large man.
"Oh gods Qui," he murmured, throat closing, eyes prickling with
tears.
Tianna stroked the back of her knuckles over his cheek. "He'll
be all right, Ow. Thanks to you, I suspect."
"How bad is it?"
"Bad enough that he should be dead."
"His spine--"
"It's a clean cut, and not all the way through. The neurons
should regenerate just fine. He'll need time to get steady on
his feet again, and more of it to be up to par, but there
shouldn't be any problems in the long run. What was it? It
doesn't look like any blaster I've ever seen."
"A lightsaber," he said through gritted teeth.
She gawked at him. "What--?"
"A Sith's lightsaber. Lightstaff, double-ended. Red. I cut it
in half. But not before it-- I couldn't stop-- He went ahead
without me! He wouldn't wait! We're a team, he knows that. The
fool wouldn't wait . . ."
He felt the grip of strong fingers at his shoulder, heard at a
distance behind his anger and fear Tianna's soothing voice
hushing him once more, felt himself go boneless and calm and
surrendered to it gratefully, and slept.
He was three more days abed, regaining his strength. When he
woke again in a less agitated state, Tianna told him he had
been unconscious, nearly comatose himself, when she and her
master had arrived some days after the fact, that he'd been
found that way with Qui-Gon in the power plant. The palace
medical staff had seen to Qui-Gon, first, since Obi-Wan himself
seemed in no immediate danger, but they had not been able to
wake him.
"Where were you in there?" she asked him curiously, tapping his
head with a knuckle.
"Not there at all," he answered, dodging, uncertain he could
explain. In all truth, he had been with Qui-Gon, more
intimately than ever before, inside his body in a way so far
surpassing what they'd had in the gardens that he wondered if
he would ever again be able to totally separate his own
feelings and thoughts and perceptions from his master's. Even
now, with Qui-Gon comatose in the tank, he knew what his lover
and master became aware of in his rare and short moments of
lucidity. In between passing out in the power station and
waking here, he not been truly unconscious, only unaware of
anything but himself and his master, and had held Qui-Gon's
life force to him, sheltering it like a firestarter's coal,
feeding it with his own to sustain it. As a consequence, there
seemed to be some strange new link between them, much stronger
than their training bond. He wondered if it would last, or if
it were only a temporary thing. Some part of him wanted it to
remain.
Physically, he felt as though he had been fighting all that
time, and was drained and exhausted and sore. He supposed, in a
sense, that it had been a fight, trying to keep them both here.
He felt Qui-Gon's wounds even now, but before they had both
retreated from the outside world, the pain had been so
excruciating that there was no giving any of it up to the
Force, not even with it flowing through them both like water.
The sight of his master's face twisted with it would stay with
him for some time. All of it would.
The dreams were bad this time, as they often were after a hard
mission, when visions of the recent past returned to haunt him
in sleep. But these were worse than most. The sight of that red
blade passing into Qui-Gon's body so easily and his master
collapsing in a heap at the thing's feet returned again and
again. And the face of the creature who had done it seemed
ready-made for nightmares, as though it were some archetype of
horror come to life. Obi-Wan woke shouting in rekindled fear
several times a night, only to have Tianna or her master or one
of the palace medical staff ease him back into sleep with a
touch of the Force, or when he woke very agitated, a dose of
tranquilizer. The visions were fewer in the daylight hours and
was grateful for whatever sleep he could snatch then.
Worse by far, however, were his memories of following Qui-Gon
into the Force and watching the Light fade in him as he
followed his apprentice back. Though he woke quietly from them,
they were far more disturbing than the nightmare-visions of the
Sith or the memories of Qui-Gon's pain, and more likely to wake
him in tears. He began to wonder if he had done the right
thing, bringing Qui-Gon back. He had been so at peace in that
place. Nor did it help that his motives for doing so were
anything but pure. If he were able to say he had brought
Qui-Gon back for the boy, for the good of the order, because it
wasn't his time-- anything but his own selfish reasons--it
would have been easier to bear the memory of the Light dimming
in his lover. In that place, Qui-Gon had been radiant,
beautiful, filled with the goodness Obi-Wan had always known in
him, and it was as if he had somehow stained it by bringing him
back. He wondered if Qui-Gon would forgive him for it.
Within days of the planet's liberation, half of the Council--
most of them Qui-Gon's friends--as well as Tianna and her
master, had arrived on Naboo, but the Council waited until
Obi-Wan was ambulatory to hear his report. He gave them the
severed halves of the Sith's lightstaff, surrendered Qui- Gon's
saber reluctantly to Master Windu, and felt entirely bereft
without it or one of his own. He would have to build another
now that his own was lost to the melting pit, and that would
have to wait until their return to Coruscant and the Temple.
The Council listened silently, asked him a few questions, and
went back to Coruscant, all but Masters Windu and Yoda.
And such odd things they asked him too, he thought, reflecting
on it later as he lay in the sun in a small garden off the
medical wing.
"How felt you when Qui-Gon injured was?" Yoda had inquired.
"Afraid. Angry," he'd told them truthfully.
"And when you killed the Sith?" Master Windu had added,
scrutinizing his reactions and the way he held himself.
"Nothing, at first, My Master. Then relief. Then fear for my
master. Perhaps I should have felt regret, but I think not."
"And why did you kill it, Padawan Kenobi?" Plo Koon had asked
him.
"Why, My Master?" Obi-Wan had repeated stupidly. In truth it
seemed a ridiculous question, even now. It was always folly to
second guess a battle like this if one had not witnessed it.
"Yes, Padawan. It would have been well had you taken it
prisoner. Perhaps not possible, but useful."
"I killed in defense of myself and my master. I killed
something whose only purpose was itself to kill. I've never
felt such evil. It was like killing a mad, vicious animal.
There would have been no reasoning with it, no other option. I
doubt very much I could have taken it prisoner."
"So you killed it because you had to. Not for the sake of
vengeance?"
"I--" Obi-Wan had started to answer, then stopped himself,
searching his feelings. "Not in the end," he had said
truthfully.
"Were you guided by the Force in this, Padawan Kenobi?"
"Yes, Master Koon. I do not believe I could have defeated it if
I were not. It was well-trained and strong in the Dark Side."
"Indeed it was, to wound your master so," Master Piell had
agreed, sadly.
He said nothing to this, though he hadn't yet expunged his own
anger at Qui-Gon for charging ahead alone against the thing.
They would have to have a talk about that, they would.
"How came you to lose your saber, Kenobi?" Piell had pressed
him. It was, after all, the ultimate humiliation for a Jedi.
"My own weakness, My Master," Obi-Wan had admitted without
hesitation, but much inward flinching. "I gave in to my fears
and my anger when Qui--when my master was struck down. I fought
without clarity of purpose, without full contact with the
Force. The Sith knocked me into the melting pit and I lost my
weapon saving myself. It was my master's weapon I used to kill
it."
"And your master," Yoda had said gently, "save him how did
you?"
Of course Yoda would have known Qui-Gon, his own padawan, was
dying, would have felt him joining the Force. Obi-Wan had
realized with that question that Yoda had also probably been
aware of his struggle to bring Qui-Gon back.
"I went after him," Obi-Wan had answered. He hadn't known how
else to say it, still didn't. "Into the Living Force."
Yoda had nodded, apparently understanding, the wise and
piercing blue eyes studying him. "Why?"
"Because I love him." That had been the simple truth. With
that, he had been dismissed.
Now, he wondered what it all meant, that questioning of his
heart and actions and motives, something the Council rarely did
in the course of a report. It made him a little afraid, but he
was too tired to worry for long, and slept again.
His days following the Council's grilling were a haze of
fatigue and dozing in the quiet medical wing of Naboo's palace,
sometimes in the sun in the garden but more often near Qui-Gon
in his tank. Amidala came to visit when her duties allowed,
sometimes in her guise as Padme, when Anakin accompanied her.
The boy seemed uneasy around him, and Obi-Wan had not the
energy to find out why, or to look after him as he knew he
should for his master. Amidala assured him he was being
well-cared for, and Anakin agreed, but the boy was obviously
worried and upset. Well, that made two of them.
Qui-Gon was just shy of two tenths in the tank before they
finally decanted him for the final time and settled him, still
lightly comatose, in a comfortable room in the medical wing.
Very gradually, they fiddled with his blood chemistry until his
brainwave patterns were sleep-normal again, and left him under
Obi-Wan's watchful eyes to wake on his own. Anakin soon
appeared and asked to join him.
Obi-Wan watched the boy almost as much as he watched his
master. He was scrupulously polite with Obi-Wan, but hardly
friendly, and seemed, in fact, a little afraid of Qui- Gon's
apprentice. But for a nine-year-old, Anakin was capable of
amazing patience. He sat as quietly in the room's other chair
as if he were meditating, aware of any slight movement Qui-Gon
might make, but obviously lost in thought. Finally, after
nearly an hour, when Obi-Wan was beginning to think him
inhuman, the boy's patience ran out.
"Is he going to wake up soon, Jedi Kenobi, ser?"
"It might be some hours yet, Anakin," he murmured gently, in a
voice just above a whisper. It seemed likely he and the boy
were going to be in each other's pockets for some time, so
Obi-Wan thought he should try to allay some of Anakin's fears,
most of all of himself. "Shall I have someone call you as soon
as he does? You needn't sit and wait. I've sure Master Jinn
would understand."
The boy looked torn--and a little suspicious.
"You're not just trying to get rid of me, are you?"
"No, Ani. It's just hard to sit and wait like this, I know.
It's hard for me, and I remember what it was like to sit still
for so long at your age." I sound like Qui pretending he's
an old man, he thought with some amusement.
"Will he be all right now?"
"So the healers say," Obi-Wan replied. Anakin frowned and he
realized that wasn't much reassurance. "I'm sure he will be.
Only it will take him some time to get on his feet again. The
nerves in his spine have regenerated and reconnected, but
they're not working quite as they should be yet. Some of them
have forgotten exactly how to do what they did before."
"You mean he'll have to learn to walk again?" The boy looked
frightened at the idea.
That was an intelligent question from a child his age. "Not
exactly. But it will take him some time to do it with the same
coordination." To learn that graceful prowl again. "And
to regain his strength. He's had some very serious injuries."
"Will we be going back to Coruscant, ser?"
"Yes, eventually. I'm not sure when. Much depends on the speed
of Master Jinn's recovery. Really, Anakin, you needn't stay.
It's likely to be some time before he wakes. I promise I'll
have someone tell you as soon as he's awake."
Anakin left his chair and came to stand beside Obi-Wan's, their
eyes nearly at a level. The boy looked into the young Jedi's
eyes unflinchingly, said with a frank honesty too old for his
nine-year-old soul, "You don't like me much, do you, ser?"
The words cut Obi-Wan with the hurt behind them, well- hidden
as it was, all the more because they had been true. Had been.
The boy was perceptive, no doubt of it. Too perceptive for his
own good. It would be hell to train him, and it was task
Obi-Wan knew he was not equal to. The least he could do was
make amends. He slid from the chair onto his knees and bowed to
Anakin, touching his forehead to the floor.
"You shame me, Ser," he murmured, sitting up on his heels again
and meeting Anakin's now-puzzled gaze with one just as
forthright. "I have wronged you. I have been rude and unkind to
you out of my own fear. I beg your pardon, Anakin Skywalker."
For all that perceptiveness, Obi-Wan's words seemed to puzzle
him. "You were afraid of me?"
"I was afraid you would take my place in Master Jinn's heart."
That seemed to do little to clear things up, so Obi- Wan went
on, trying to explain, not certain he could. Jealousy was such
an absurd and yet visceral emotion. "Being a Jedi apprentice is
like being your master's son or daughter, in many ways. I was
just a few years older than you when Master Jinn first took me
on, and he was very reluctant to do so. So it took me some time
to realize he really did want to train me, really did care
about me. When he told the Council he would train you, he had
said nothing of it to me beforehand, and my first
thought--wrong as it was, and just plain silly as it was--was
that he was abandoning me, for you."
Anakin listened solemnly, looking more and more unhappy. "I
never wanted to be any trouble to you, or to Master Jinn."
Obi-Wan stroked the boy's silky pale hair. "I know that, Ani.
Nothing of what I felt or what Master Jinn said or didn't say
was your fault. I've been Master Jinn's padawan for thirteen
years now. We've lived together, hardly ever been apart for
more than a few days. We've learned to love and respect one
another in that time, as most masters and padawans do.
Sometimes, with a very few, that love and respect becomes
something more. Something different and stronger. So it did
with us. I was simply afraid to lose that."
"If it's stronger, how could I take your place? I might not
even be his whatchacallit. The Council won't let me."
Obi-Wan smiled. "His padawan learner. And of course, you're
right, Ani, about taking my place. I should have known that.
And Master Jinn should perhaps have been a bit more diplomatic
about telling the Council he would train you. Because you will
be his padawan. I have no doubts about that. Qui-Gon Jinn does
as he will, Council or no, when he feels the Force is guiding
him, and he feels very strongly he was guided to you for just
that reason."
"But they said he can't have two at a time."
"I will probably be taking my own Trials soon, and becoming a
knight myself, I hope. Then Master Jinn will be free to take
another padawan."
"If he's okay," the boy said, looking at the still figure on
the pallet. Obi-Wan was not surprised to sense fear in the
child; what surprised him was that it was not for himself or
his own future. It was, like his own, for Qui-Gon.
"He'll be all right now, Ani. The worst of it is over. It will
be some time before he's himself again, but he's in no danger
now."
"But he almost died, didn't he?"
"Yes, he did."
The boy looked it him with that same frank stare, eyes
narrowing. "You wouldn't let him, would you?"
"No, Ani. I wouldn't. It wasn't his time. He should be the one
to train you."
"That's not the only reason you wouldn't let him die though,"
the boy said with disconcerting shrewdness.
"No, it's not. I didn't want to lose him, either. I love him
very much." For a brief moment, he opened his shields and let
his love for Qui-Gon fill him and wash over Anakin. The boy's
eyes went wide and he shivered a little, hugging himself, then
grinned.
"That's how I feel about him, Ani," Obi-Wan said softly.
"Wow!" he whooped, then shot a guilty glance at Qui-Gon, who
stirred a little. "I think I understand now, Knight Kenobi,
ser," he said in a whisper, and darted forward to hug Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan returned it, only a little surprised, and more at the
suddenness of it than the gesture itself. Qui-Gon was usually
right about the tagalongs he collected. "It's okay. I guess I
would have been worried about me too, if I'd been you." Anakin
looked away again, back at the pallet where his future lay
sleeping. "And I understand why. He's really great. I mean,
he's really a great man, too, isn't he? It's hard not to love
him."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm glad you saved him. I don't think you'd be the right
teacher for me, ser."
Again, Obi-Wan was struck by the boy's perceptiveness and oddly
charmed by his honesty as he hadn't let himself be before.
Well, his outrageous midichlorian count and nine years as a
slave had obviously provided and honed those skills.
"I think you're quite right about that, Ani. I hope, however,
that we can be friends. I am very sorry I hurt your feelings. I
was wrong to take my fears out on you. Can we start again?"
Obi-Wan held out a hand.
Without any hesitation, Anakin took it. "Pleased to meet you,
Jedi Kenobi, ser."
"And I you, Anakin Skywalker," he smiled. It was one of the few
bright spots in the entire Naboo fiasco.
Qui-Gon woke a few hours later. That was another.
He wasn't certain what woke him--whether it was thirst, or the
bar of sunlight from the window warming him, or the awareness
of the carefully modulated ruckus of life that was his
apprentice beside him--but all those things came to his
conscious attention at about the same time his apprentice
realized he was awake. Obi-Wan polarized the windows with a
tendril of the Force and held a straw to Qui-Gon's lips,
stopping him before he drank too much.
"A little at a time, Master. You'll make yourself ill. Let me
send for Anakin. He's been very worried about you."
Gods it was sweet to hear his voice! He could almost hear it
inside himself, feel it like another heartbeat pulsing through
his body. And either the young man was barely bothering with
his shields or Qui-Gon himself was unnaturally sensitive, but
he was having difficulty sorting his own physical responses and
emotions from Obi-Wan's. That they were both exhausted, he had
no doubt. He felt more lethargic than he'd felt in years, and
weak as a newborn, with that slight disorientation in time and
space that injuries and suspension in the bacta tank left one
with. But whether the relief and joy coursing through him were
all his own, he could not tell, any more than he could tell his
own muscular aches from his apprentice's.
"You look like hell, my love," Qui-Gon blurted before he could
stop himself. He did though, those beautiful blue- grey-green
eyes bloodshot and rimmed with bruised and fragile skin, a
pinched look to his face. And he felt, well, if not
quite ill, then not quite well, either.
Obi-Wan only smiled. "Thank you, Master. It's for a worthy
cause."
"Not sitting at my bedside, I hope," he replied, coughing a
little.
"Just so, My Master," Obi-Wan confirmed, giving him a little
more water. "How are you feeling?"
"Alive. Which is more than I should be." He groped for his
lover's hand. Obi-Wan helped by grasping his master's firmly
between both of his own. "Thank you, but please don't do it
again, Padawan."
"I hope never to have to, My Master. If the time ever comes,
however, I shall keep my own counsel about what to do."
"Impudent padawan," Qui-Gon murmured, pulling the younger man
toward him. No electricity when their mouths met, just solace
and gratitude and a low-burning warmth-- and the sweet taste of
his lover, something he'd never thought to enjoy again, not so
long ago.
"Gods, Qui, don't frighten me like that again. Please." Obi-
Wan raised the hand he held and kissed the calloused palm, then
leaned down to kiss his face again, tenderly, his lips, his
cheek, his forehead, his eyes.
"I shall try to become one with the Force peacefully in my bed
in the distant future," Qui-Gon murmured softly against his
cheek, rubbing lightly against it, vaguely aware that Anakin
had entered the room and was watching with barely contained
impatience. "You smell too good to leave so precipitously."
Obi-Wan laughed a little sharply, surprised and amused, then
choked, the laughter unleashing other emotions, and Qui-Gon
felt himself flooded with his apprentice's fear and grief and
relief, as strongly as if it were his own, as though all
Obi-Wan's shields had indeed disappeared. His breath hitched in
his chest as his padawan fought for control, and he reached up
and brought the young man's forehead down to his own, gripping
his padawan tail as though it were a collar, his hand shaking
with the effort.
"Stop it," he growled. "I'm all right."
"You bastard," Obi-Wan snarled back, startling them both with
the intensity of his anger, and alarming Anakin. "What in all
the Sith hells did you think you were doing running ahead like
that? Don't you ever do that to me again. Do you hear me?"
"That's enough, Obi-Wan! You forget yourself," Qui-Gon rattled
him by the scant handful of hair he gripped with what little
strength he had. It amounted to a jostle a kitling wouldn't
have noticed. "I am still your master."
"Not for long, you old fool," Obi-Wan retorted. "Not if you act
like that." He yanked himself out of Qui-Gon's grip, which took
little effort and cost him only a few strands of hair and . . .
and stood shaking beside his master's bed, obviously appalled
at himself and his loss of control.
Yet it was truth. Truth and they both knew it.
Still, the words hung between them, foul and almost palpably
wrong in their disrespect and insubordination. Strange that
Qui-Gon felt neither disrespected nor defied. What he felt was
a confusing array of emotions, not all of which were his own
and which he could neither sort out nor bring under any
control. The only truly clear feeling was love and its
accompanying terror of loss, and it flowed between them as
their deepened bond did.
Exhausted and overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions coursing
through his apprentice and through himself, Qui- Gon closed his
eyes and turned away. "Go. Come back when you can act like a
Jedi."
"Master--"
"Leave me, I said," Qui-Gon mumbled, already falling into sleep
once more.
Obi-Wan turned and fled, leaving a bewildered and alarmed
Anakin with his now-sleeping master.
What in all the Sith hells had he been thinking? Obi-Wan
berated himself, walking blindly down the corridor. Had he been
thinking? No, that seemed rather doubtful. He'd stopped
thinking the moment Qui-Gon had woken and he'd been filled with
his master's perceptions, with the lethargy weighing his limbs,
the drowsiness that was so unlike his usual waking, his wonder
at waking at all, the jolt of pleasure that ran through him at
seeing his apprentice. It was that last that had undone him,
made him forget years of rigorous training and harsh
instruction--the simple affirmation of his master's love for
him. He was a fool.
They were both fools, perhaps, but nothing in his life had ever
frightened him so much as seeing Qui-Gon sprinting ahead of
him, leaving him to pick himself up and catch up as best he
could. It wasn't even that Qui-Gon knew he would do so. They
were always peripherally mindful of each other in any fight,
and such an action would have been unremarkable in any other
battle. But this had not been any other battle, and Qui-Gon had
known that as well as he. With a powerful and unknown enemy
like this one, one that was capable of forcing Qui-Gon to flee
once before, he should have waited . . . and yet he hadn't.
Because he had been protecting Obi-Wan, as though he were still
a child--or a loved one.
Obi-Wan sighed. They would have to work this out over and over
again, it seemed: how to balance themselves between being a
partnership of two Jedi and being a couple who deeply loved
each other. Eventually, Qui-Gon would have to learn to see him
as an independent knight, as well, but who knew how far away
that was now, after this fiasco. He'd certainly proven he
wasn't anywhere near ready for knighthood with that outburst of
behavior, and his reaction when Qui-Gon had been hurt.
Chagrined and disappointed with himself, he retreated into the
gardens to purge his heart in meditation. Finding a secluded
spot away from the palace and hidden from the view of windows,
he knelt on the dew-dampened ground and closed his eyes. He
breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of living things, of the
grasses and soil, the perfume of flowers, the smell of water
from the nearby river, the feel of the wind against his skin,
running like Qui's fingers through his hair. Peace began to
fill him as it had not since Qui-Gon had been injured. The
Living Force seemed to envelope him as it rarely had before,
more easily than before. He wondered briefly if this were the
product of his stronger bond with his master, or of his plunge
into it to save him. Whatever it had come of, it was a great
comfort. It filled his heart with light, scouring out the dark
places that held his fear of failure and loss, reminding him
that he and Qui-Gon would never be parted, no matter what. It
was a lesson he had yet to truly learn. He wondered if he ever
would.
Qui-Gon was still sleeping and Anakin was curled up in the
chair he had vacated when Obi-Wan reentered his master's room
and stood just inside the threshold many hours later. The
younger man watched his master for a time in the faint light of
the medical wing's night, watched the muscular chest rise and
fall smoothly, as it had not for a terrifying time; examined
the beloved face, now lined with fatigue but peaceful and free
of pain at last; appraised the long, lean body beneath the
light covers, noting the loss of mass, the stillness of the
limbs. Then he went to his knees, and pressed his forehead to
the floor. He would stay this way until Qui-Gon bid him rise,
as long as necessary.
It turned out he was there until morning, when his master woke
again at his body's usual hour, just after dawn. His own
discomfort long passed into numbness, Obi-Wan became aware
now--like a switch going on--of his master's aches and
stiffness, his annoyance with being tethered still to monitors
and tubes, his returning energy . . . and his sudden awareness
of Obi-Wan's presence, the pleasure and concern it evoked in
him. Strange to know himself that way, through his master's
feelings. Even when Qui-Gon's usual shields closed around his
consciousness, Obi-Wan found he remained peculiarly mindful of
his master's physical and mental states. Their training bond,
already stronger than most--as Obi-Wan had discovered early in
their relationship--had now become something quite different.
"I'd never see you there, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was wry and
gentle, some drowsiness still evident in it, but much stronger
than before. "You're hidden by the foot of the bed from here."
His voice sharpened somewhat when Obi-Wan stayed where he was.
"Get up, Padawan. I can't kiss you with your face pressed to
the floor."
Anakin stirred and woke as Obi-Wan sat up, back cracking,
coming instantly alert like a small guardian, ready to defend
his charge. He watched Obi-Wan warily and with a little
hostility. Obi-Wan got to this feet stiffly and without his
usual grace, not meeting his master's gaze, hobbled to the
bedside, and went to his knees again, or would have, had
Qui-Gon not caught his braid and yanked it with far more
strength than he'd had earlier.
"I said get up, Obi-Wan. Have you gone deaf?" There was a
sharpness in Qui-Gon's voice that Obi-Wan didn't often hear,
something that might almost be peevishness, if that were
possible. "It's very awkward trying to talk to you when you're
kneeling and I can't sit up yet."
"Forgive me, My Master," Obi-Wan said quietly, bowing deeply,
acutely aware of Anakin's suspicion, realizing he had lost
again whatever ground they had gained the day before.
"For what, little fool?"
For what? Gods, for everything, he thought, standing up
but keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. "My disrespect, My
Master." For a start. "I should not have spoken as I did
yesterday."
"Perhaps not," Qui-Gon sighed, sounding put-upon. "But you
spoke your truth from your heart. I cannot in good conscience
punish you for your feelings. I think you've probably spent
sufficient time in meditation during the night to understand
the need to disengage your tongue from your emotions, however."
"Yes, My Master," Obi-Wan replied contritely and with as much
deference as he could put into his voice, eyes remaining fixed
on the floor.
"Well, Padawan? What more? Is there something I should
punish you for?"
"For failing you, My Master," he continued. Best to get it all
out.
Qui-Gon raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Oh? And just how did you
fail me, Padawan?"
His master was going to make him catalog it all. As if he
hadn't already, night after night, in the hours he lay awake
trying to shake off the dreams. Very well, then. Start with the
worst. It would be good for Anakin to see his faults too.
"I gave in to my fear and anger, My Master. When you were--when
we faced the Sith."
"Ah, then you lied to the Council, too, about killing in
anger?"
Obi-Wan started. How did Qui-Gon know of the Council's
grilling? "No, My Master. But when I saw you struck down--"
"You were afraid. For me, for yourself."
"Yes, My Master."
"Liar. You hadn't a micron of fear for yourself, foolish one.
Did you?"
Obi-Wan paused, thinking back. "No, My Master," he replied,
surprised it was true. "Only for you."
"And you were angry. With whom?"
Qui-Gon watched him, and waited. How like his master, Obi-Wan
thought, to leave him dangling on his own petard like this, to
make him extricate himself. Already, he was teaching his next
padawan by rebuking his current one. Very well. He would
sacrifice his dignity to be the object lesson.
"With you, My Master."
"Yes," Qui-Gon went on, "you were angry with your old master
for running ahead of you like an over-eager padawan. Angry with
him for wanting to protect you. For not acknowledging that he
is past his prime and that the young boy he trained so
carefully and once trounced so soundly in the sparring salles
is now a powerful young man and his better. Angry with him for
not waiting for you, for ignoring the years spent building a
team, for getting himself killed and so endangering both you
and the mission. For being, in effect, a complete and utter
fool. Yes?"
"Yes, My Master." It sounded just as disrespectful to Obi-
Wan's ears when Qui-Gon recited it as if he had said it
himself. The rant, in fact, sounded very like it could have
been in his own voice, as though Qui-Gon had plucked it from
Obi-Wan's thoughts.
"But you let the creature's taunting prick you, also, Padawan.
I saw that."
It was like being caught masturbating, only worse. Obi- Wan
wasn't certain he could blush any more without the top of his
head blowing off. Being branded would be less painful. Such a
basic lesson, and he had failed it so miserably. He hoped
Anakin was taking note. This was not a lesson he wanted anyone
to have to repeat.
"Yes, My Master," he admitted.
"So you used that anger against your enemy."
"Yes, My Master."
"And what happened? I haven't yet been told this part and I
don't remember it. Obviously, you came out of it alive and in
one piece."
"Barely, My Master. I let my anger and fear get the best of me
and was shoved over into the melting pit and lost my saber. I
managed to grab hold of something on the side before I went in
completely."
"And the Sith creature?"
"Stood and gloated, My Master. And had every right to. I acted
no better than he."
"You defeated yourself."
"Yes, My Master." Gods, he'd never been so ashamed of himself.
And Qui-Gon was being so very gentle with him now, which meant
only that there would be hell to pay later, in exercises and
training. And he'd deserve it.
"What then, my Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon said quietly, touching the
young man's elbow. "Tell me how you came to win this battle.
Were you afraid for yourself then?"
It took him a moment to form the words, to work around the pain
and the disappointment with himself and state the facts baldly,
without melodrama or self-pity. "Yes, My Master. I suppose I
was. I knew I couldn't hold on indefinitely, but I had no
weapon and no chance of defeating the thing without one. And I
wanted it dead. Then I realized that--" He faltered there,
remembering. "I realized you had dropped your saber when you
were injured, that it still lay beside you."
"Yes," Qui-Gon murmured, listening intently. "What then?" he
encouraged.
"I called it to me, propelled myself out of the pit, came up
over the Sith's head and swung downward as I did, and cut him
in half."
"A very prosaic account, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon replied dryly. "You
will never be a storyteller. How did you succeed this time,
when you had failed so badly before?"
"I let the Force guide me. I, I opened myself to it, as I
should have done all--"
"As you did all the time we fought side by side, Padawan, until
I ran ahead of you. Until I was injured."
"Yes, My Master," Obi-Wan admitted. "Until then."
"And what else, Obi-Wan? I sense we haven't touched on all
that's troubling you."
"I put our relationship before my duty."
Qui-Gon smiled. "I do seem to remember you telling me you would
leave the order without me. In fact, I remember several other
absurd pronouncements in your voice. Perhaps I was
hallucinating at the time, however, being quite dead. Surely
the Council would not have voted to make such a foolish and
fickle padawan a knight."
Obi-Wan shook his head, casting his gaze downward again,
feeling himself flush painfully once more. He had said those
things. He-- "What?" His head snapped up suddenly and he
realized Qui-Gon was smiling. No. His master was
grinning. Grinning rather fiendishly. "What--what did
you say?" he stammered.
"'What did you say, Master,' if you please, Padawan. I'd
like to enjoy the sound of that whilst I still can. It was
nearly the first thing out of Yoda's mouth when he saw I was
awake. Not 'How feel you?' or 'Concerned for you I was,' but
'Voted to raise your padawan learner to knight, the Council
has.'" Qui-Gon allowed himself a short chuckle, stifling it
before it turned into the cough that lurked just below it.
Obi-Wan's world reeled for a moment before restabilizing--
well, almost restabilizing. He still wasn't sure his feet were
touching the ground. A large patch of it seemed to have fallen
out from under him.
"They what?" he said stupidly. "After I--"
"After you conducted yourself exceedingly well in a trial far
more difficult than most padawans endure. Do you know how many
years it has been since a padawan earned his knighthood in
battle, Obi-Wan?"
"You did," he pointed out.
"A very long while indeed," Qui-Gon affirmed. "But not nearly
as long since it was earned in battle against a Sith Lord."
"But I--"
"You fell prey to every Jedi's weaknesses, Obi-Wan. As did I. I
feared too much for you and was not mindful enough of my duty;
I tried to protect you when I should have trusted your
abilities. I let my love for you override my good sense and
forged ahead where I should have worked with you, my partner
and teammate. I endangered you and myself and nearly made a
complete disaster of the mission. Unlike your master, you
conquered your faults, and remembered and held true to your
training--and won.
"And beyond that, Padawan, let us not forget that you saved my
life."
"I caused you so much pain, Qui," Obi-Wan said quietly,
remembering the agony etched on his master's face.
"I caused it myself, my love. If there is anyone to blame, it
is I. No one else. Especially not you."
"I know you would have stayed--"
"Hush. If I had truly been ready to leave you," he said,
cupping Obi-Wan's cheek in one large hand, "you could not have
stopped me. There would have been nothing for me to come back
to. You would have been left with an old cloak and your
master's saber. Did you think me so eager to desert you, my
heart? You mean too much to me. Without your help, your giving
of yourself, I would not be here now, and I cannot be truly
happy without you, my love. I would wait for you--will wait for
you when the time comes--"
Obi-Wan reached out and touched his fingers to his master's
lips. "Stop. Stop it. I won't listen to this now. It's too
soon. It was too near a thing, Qui."
Qui-Gon took his hand, held it against his heart. "All right,
my love. I won't speak of it then. We will live in the moment,
however long it may be."
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